Self Preservation
by Mag68
Summary: In response to a prompt from JamJunkie14, who wants to see if Jim and I can save the receptionist. Starts out aboard the Princess during the Booze Cruise.
1. Who Would You Save First?

**A/N: This story is for JamJunkie14, who so generously bid and won me in the Support Stacie Author Auction. She may be a junkie, but I am happy to be her pusher. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of these characters, this show, or even a life preserver. I just want to go along for the ride with them. If I drift too far into sovereign territory, I apologize. No infringement on either copyrights or maritime treaties is intended.**

**Self Preservation**

Okay, you know that things aren't really going your way when the only hope that you have to cling to are five words uttered by a man zip-tied to ship's railing, but the words, the words…

_Never, ever, ever give up._

He stared at the lights on the approaching shoreline. He knew Michael had probably swiped them from a Successories poster. And, he knew that the Successories people probably swiped them from Winston Churchill or someone else who had something of real importance to convey, but at this moment, Jim Halpert clung to the Michael Scott version of those words as if they were a life preserver.

Over the hum of the engines he could hear the pulsating rhythm of the bass and drums. The now familiar chant of 'Snor-kel shot! Snor-kel shot!' and muffled whoops and hollers of approval carried on the crisp wind. His hands tightened on the rail as he heard the cabin door open, allowing the desperate sounds of last call revelry to invade the night. He turned his head, annoyed by the intrusion, but the unmistakable silhouette framed in the doorway wasn't entirely unwelcome. Something had to be said.

The door closed behind her, the snick of the latch catching making his heart stop for a second. Only a second. Or maybe it was more. It seemed to stretch between them. Another moment here, another moment gone. As she walked slowly toward him he hunched his shoulders, sinking deeper into the collar of his coat, seeking what little protection it could offer.

"Big night, huh?" she asked with a smile, hesitating fractionally when he didn't return it.

Jim focused on the lights of the dock, willing them closer, wondering how long it would be before he felt solid ground beneath his feet again. "Big night," he said softly.

The engines droned but the safety of the shoreline still seemed miles away. The silence hung heavy, lading the night air thick and heavy with words unsaid. His thoughts rippled like the waves left in their wake. He had to say it. He knew he had to say it.

"Jim," she began tentatively.

"I'm in love with Pam, Katy," he said as he turned to look at her, one hand clutching the rail in a death grip.

"What?" she gasped.

"I'm in love with Pam. That's why that will never be you and me, that's why I couldn't make that toast," he confessed in a rush.

"But…"

"Yeah, I know," he said as he hung his head, nodding slightly. "I know, and I know that I wasn't fair to you, and I know that it's - it's hopeless, but there you go," he said, lifting his head as his nods became more resolute.

She gaped at him for a moment, and then pulled her coat tighter around her. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard before opening it to speak, but stopped when she saw the truth of what he had said in his pleading green eyes. She stepped back, her mind reeling as she wondered if he expected her to help him somehow. She shook her head slowly as she took another step back, her jaw tightening.

"Well, that sucks for you, doesn't it?" she said in a tight, hurt tone, and then whirled on her heel to head back into the cabin.

"Yeah, it does," Jim said quietly as he turned back to the rail and gripped it with both hands.

He leaned forward, pressing his weight into it as he bent at the waist, staring into the churning waters below. He lowered his head, wondering what it would feel like to wallow in their icy depths, knowing that whatever it was had to be better than what he was feeling at that moment_. Numb. Numb would be good, _he told himself. _I could go for feeling numb right now._

He stiffened as the cabin door opened again, and he heard her call, "Hey, don't jump, the ship isn't really sinking."

Jim turned his head, his eyes locked on her as she huddled into her coat and walked toward him. "It's not?" he asked, unable to resist returning her teasing smile.

Pam shook her head and said, "The analogy ran aground, though. Sank like a tons of bricks."

"Well, that's a relief," he said as he straightened up.

"Where's Michael?" Pam asked as she looked around.

"Captain Jack has him tied to starboard," Jim answered as he nodded along the railing toward the front of the boat.

"Poor Michael," Pam murmured. She shook her head and gave him their patented 'what-are-you-gonna-do' grin.

"He's okay. I gave him my hat," Jim said as he shifted slightly, unable to tear his eyes from her.

Pam nodded and then glanced down at her own feet as she shivered in the cold. "So, I, uh, I saw Katy come back in. She looked a little upset about something," she said tentatively.

"Yeah, um, we broke up," Jim admitted gruffly.

Her reaction was instantaneous. She reached for his arm, squeezing it gently through his coat as she met his gaze. "Oh, Jim, I'm sorry," she said softly.

He shook his head a little and then turned to check the shoreline. To his relief, the dock seemed a little closer than it had moments before. "Nah, it's just, I'm not…" he stammered. "I've never been into cheerleaders," he said at last, turning back to her.

Their eyes met, and there it was, the silence again. It spread between them like an endless ocean as he counted the seconds in his head, searching for the right words to say. _Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…_ He licked his lips, and opened his mouth, but all that came out was, "I would save you."

"What?"

Jim turned to face her as her hand fell away from his sleeve. "If this ship was sinking, I would save you," he said, his gaze boring into hers.

"Me?" she asked with a puzzled frown.

"If I had you, I wouldn't ask you to marry me and then put you off for three years; I'd marry you right away. If I were engaged to you, it wouldn't take six snorkel shots and some cock and bull story from Captain Jack to get me to set a date. I've never wanted to date the cheerleader or sit at the cool kids table. I like the artsy girls," he said with a self-deprecating little smile. "I could do without the 'fartsy' part, but if that came with you, then I'd learn to deal with it," he told her solemnly.

"Jim," Pam breathed, his name carried away on the wind.

"And I know that I have no right to say these things. I know that it won't change anything, but I'm drowning here, Pam. I'm so in love with you that I don't know what to do," he told her. Jim pressed his lips together and glanced down at his shoes. "There you go…" he muttered under his breath.

"I don't know what to say," Pam murmured as she stared at him, her brow furrowed. "What am I supposed to say to that?" she asked, her voice growing stronger.

Jim shook his head and turned to look at the shore. He took a deep breath as he saw the wooden planks of the dock tantalizingly out of reach. "You don't have to say anything," he told her without turning to look at her. "I just needed you to know, I'd save you first." With that, he pushed away from the rail, and walked the perimeter of the deck, heading for the front of the boat.

Pam turned and stared after him, watching his broad shoulders disappear as he skirted the side of the cabin. She started to follow him, wanting to demand an explanation, hoping to clarify things; just to be sure that she had heard him correctly, needing to know if what he said was true. Her steps slowed as she rounded the edge of the cabin and saw Jim reach up to pull his hat down further on Michael's head to cover his ears. She stopped, one hand gripping the rail as the other reached out to find purchase on the exterior wall of the cabin.

Pam stood poised on the narrow passageway, watching as Jim patted Michael's shoulder and then turned to go back inside. She sucked in a deep breath of the cold night air and closed her eyes, absorbing what she knew with absolute certainty was truth. Pam tipped her head back, the wind lifting the ends of her hair and whipping them against her cheeks and eyes like a thousand tiny lashes of a whip. She pulled her hand from the wall and gathered the torturous tresses in her fingers, holding them tightly as she leaned into the rail and opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a white circle striped with red and the carefully stenciled words 'Princess' and 'Lake Wallenpaupack'. Pam reached up and touched the line that tethered the life preserver to the boat, and wondered idly if it would be strong enough to hold her.

_tbc_


	2. Going Down for the Third Time in a Sea

**Thank you to JamJunkie14 for having patience with me, and for letting me get past last week's giddiness before diving back into the angst. Also, thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I truly appreciate them.**

**Disclaimer: I own no part of this show or these characters. Especially Roy. No infringement is intended.**

**Going Down for the Third Time in a Sea of Tulle**

She couldn't sleep. Roy's mouth hung open as his snores filled the room. On any other night, she'd be listening carefully, waiting to hear if the window panes actually shook in their frames. On any other night, she'd nudge him gently or not-so-gently, trying to get him to roll over. On any other night, she'd get up and go to the couch. But that night, she did none of those things. She didn't trust herself to be able to get up and walk away. Her legs were wobbly, as if she had gotten her sea legs under her, but now she can't manage solid ground.

Solid ground. Pam felt as is the ground had been ripped out from under her. She twisted the ring on her finger as she stared up at the ceiling. The light from the streetlights seeped in around the narrow slats of the vinyl blinds, rippling like waves across the wall and ceiling. How could she stand up when her best friend had cut her off at the knees? How could she sleep that night, this night, the night when Roy had finally given in and set a date; the night when Jim had said that he was in love with her. In love. So in love. So in love, that he couldn't keep his mouth shut anymore. So in love, that he'd save her first if the ship were going down. But was he really trying to save her, or was he pulling her under with him?

Roy snorted and shifted in bed, flinging one arm up over his head and jamming his elbow into her ear. Pam moved to the edge of the bed and rolled onto her side; staring at the man she had said she'd spend her life with. June 10th loomed large on the horizon now. Somehow, in the last four hours, she had gone from being cast adrift to having safe harbor in sight. The only question was, should she anchor herself to Roy and the life she had always planned to have, or does she weigh anchor and set sail on the high seas with Jim, not knowing if she'd ever reach the comfort of solid ground again.

There was comfort in knowing how things were going to be. Adventure isn't always what it's cracked up to be. She knew exactly how Roy would be when they stepped off of _The Princess_ and onto the dock. She knew he'd lean heavily on her as they made their way to the truck, that he'd be shouting parting jibes with Darryl and the other guys from the warehouse across the parking lot, she knew that he'd be too drunk to drive, she knew that his hands would be all over her as she tried to maneuver him into their bedroom, and she knew that if she resisted just long enough, he'd give up and simply pass out, punctuating the night that they finally set a date with loud snores and drunken grunts. She knew he'd be surly and hungover in the morning, somehow blaming her for the night's excesses, and complaining throughout the drive to work. What she didn't know, was if he really meant it. She didn't know if June 10th turn into 'Well, sometime in June…' only to morph into, 'Definitely this year…' and then 'Soon, Babe, we'll get married soon…' just as it has before. Twice before, in fact.

Everyone had been so happy for them. Well, almost everyone. But what they didn't know was that this was the third date they had set. Roy was nothing if not predictable. Once a year, he'd dangle a date in front of her, knowing that she would latch onto it and hang on for dear life. The only difference was that this time he had stood at a microphone in front of everyone they know and announced this one. That was what she was banking on. She had witnesses, a boatload of them. This time, he wouldn't be able to play it off that June 10th was just some crazy date she had stuck in her head for no reason. This time, other people would know if he reneged.

People would know. Jim would know. _If I had you, I wouldn't ask you to marry me and then put you off for three years; I'd marry you right away. If I were engaged to you, it wouldn't take six snorkel shots and some cock and bull story from Captain Jack to get me to set a date._ She knew it was true, he wouldn't wait. He wouldn't put her off time and time again. Jim Halpert may not be the world's most motivated guy in most respects, but when he makes up his mind, when he wants something bad enough, he'll do everything that he can to make it happen. _Was that what this was? Was this yogurt foil lids attached to paperclip chains? Had he just decided that now was the time; that he couldn't wait any more? Or was it an impulse? How long had he felt this way? How did I not see it? Did he just make up his mind tonight? Did he suddenly look up and say to himself, 'Oh, I think I love Pam.'?_ No. No, this wasn't an impulse or something that suddenly popped into his head. She knew Jim well enough to know that. In love, he said. _So in love with you that I don't know what to do. _

_I don't know what to do either_, she admitted only to herself. _What am I supposed to do with that?_ But his voice broke when he said it, slicing right into her heart. And his eyes; those earnest green eyes boring into her, asking her to help him, asking her to save him. He was drowning, and she was the only one who could save him. Pam sighed and held out her hand, staring at the ring that had sat unadorned on her finger for too long. She wondered if this hand was strong enough to hold onto him, no matter what happened. Could she love Jim? Pam already knew the answer to that, because she knew that she already did. Could she marry Roy and still love Jim? Could she be _in love_ with Jim? Pam felt a twinge low in her gut, and turned to look at Roy's oh-so-familiar profile once more. Could she love Jim enough to take that leap? Could she just jump in and swim and swim, hoping that she'd make it to shore? Hoping that he'd be the one to rescue her if she couldn't?

_I would save you first_. But after he saved her, what then?

Pam raised her arm, holding her hand up to the slats of light that striped the wall above their bed. Roy's snores grew louder as the small diamond winked in the soft yellow glow from the streetlights, and for a moment, she wondered if it was laughing at her.

****

The debate over calling in sick that morning had raged for hours. A part of him wanted to curl up on his bed and pretend that it had never happened, that he had never said those things, that he hadn't poured his heart out all over the deck of _The Princess_. But, another part of him wouldn't let him take it lying down. He had done it, he had said it, and now it was out there, floating around on the murky waters of Lake Wallenpaupack. And that part of him didn't want to take those words back. They were the truth, and the truth was the truth, no matter what. Jim tightened his grip on the steering wheel and slowed as he prepared to turn into the parking lot of the Scranton Business Park. No, he wasn't going to hide. He wouldn't run away anymore. He was going to go in there and do his job. After all, nothing had really changed. He was in love with Pam, just as he was yesterday and the day before. She was engaged to Roy, just as she was yesterday and the day before. The only difference was, he wasn't about to give up. _Never, ever, ever give up. Damn that Michael. Damn Successories. Damn Winston Churchill. Damn, this was going to be hard, _he told himself as he slammed the car door behind him.

**

Hard didn't begin to describe it. Somehow, he had managed to walk through that door, just as he always did. Somehow, he had managed to smile and greet her, just as he always did. Somehow, he had managed to sling his messenger bag and jacket over the back of his chair, lower himself into it, and turn his computer on. So far, so good.

And then Kelly came in.

"Oh my God, Pam!" she gushed as she sprinted through the door with an armload of magazines. "I saw the perfect dress for you. It's in one of these," she said as she dropped a stack of thick bridal magazines onto the reception desk. "I can't remember which one, but I do remember seeing it and thinking 'Pam would like this.' It's not really my taste, the neck was really high and it didn't have a panel cut out of the back or anything… Oh, and there may have been a bow on the butt, but you can have that taken off. Unless you like butt bows. Do you like butt bows?" she demanded.

"Um, no," Pam said as she scowled at the stack.

"You can ignore the post it notes, I just like to mark the ones that I like for future reference." As if powered by a homing device, Kelly's head whipped around as the door opened, and her face lit with a smile. "Hi, Ryan," she cooed.

"Hi," Ryan grunted as he ducked his head and hurried past her to his desk.

Kelly turned back to the reception desk and refocused all of her energies on Pam. "Okay! June 10th is not that far away, so we need to get cracking. Have you chosen your bridesmaids? I saw a fabulous bridesmaid dress in one of these," she enthused as she began shuffling through the stack of magazines. "It would look incredible on me, I mean, on anyone…"

Jim tuned her out as he shifted in his seat, but still could not resist glancing up. Their eyes locked, and Pam's lips tilted into a wry little half smile as Kelly rambled on about colors, and which colors would be the most flattering to Pam and to herself. Jim couldn't help but smile as he tuned back in long enough to hear Kelly say, "So what do you think? Coral is good, right? A summer wedding, it's bright and cheerful, but still warm. It would make you look not so pale, and I rock in coral. Not that it matters, I mean, I just think it's so cool that the color would work for both of us." Pam's eyes lit with laughter, and as always, he found himself captivated. That is, until Kelly asked, "What's Roy's favorite color?" and the spell was broken.

Jim stood up, feeling Pam's eyes on him as he headed for the break room. "Pam?" he heard Kelly prod as the door swung shut behind him, mercifully cutting off Pam's answer.

He stood in front of the vending machines and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, studying the selections for what he hoped would be the duration of Kelly's wedding planning dissertation. He tapped his wallet against the palm of his hand, staring at the coils that held honeybuns and donette gems, and wishing that he had stayed in bed. He hadn't factored in the female population of the office's fixation on all things bridal. By lunchtime, the break room would be converted into a war room and anyone without an addiction to lace had better steer clear. Jim fed a dollar into the slot and jabbed the buttons. He watched as the honeybun he didn't even want plummeted to the bottom, and felt its thud deep down in his gut.

Oscar pushed through the door and sent Jim a small smile of greeting as he carried his travel mug to the coffee maker. "Good day to go out for lunch," he commented as Jim retrieved his default breakfast from the machine.

Jim nodded as he straightened up. "I was just thinking that my sandwich would make a good dinner."

"Chili's?" Oscar asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Jim nodded, unable to hide his smile as he realized that Oscar had unwittingly chosen the one place where he'd be safe from all things Pam. "Sounds good."

"I'll alert the rest of the guys," Oscar said with a nod as he opened the door to leave.

****

Pam sat at a table in the break room flanked by Kelly and Phyllis, and holding her cup of yogurt in her lap. The surface was littered with open bridal magazines as Phyllis took copious notes on every little thing on which Pam had indicated even the slightest preference. They ignored her half-hearted attempts to evade the planning process, blithely disregarding her protests that she and her mom would be doing the planning, and that she hadn't even really had time to think about anything yet.

"Sweetie, are you trying to tell me that you and Roy have been together for ten years, engaged for three of those, and that you haven't even thought about your wedding?" Phyllis asked with a laugh.

"No, I mean, I haven't really had a chance to think about, you know, a wedding on June 10th, the church, the hall…" Pam trailed off lamely.

"There'd better be an open bar," Meredith said as she emerged from the ladies room, adjusting her panty lines.

Even though Angela was seated at another table with her back to them, Pam could almost see her roll her eyes. "It's the ceremony that's important. A wedding is a solemn occasion," she said stiffly.

"Yours will be," Meredith grumbled as she retrieved her lunch from the refrigerator. "For the rest of us, a wedding means an open bar and the chance to score." She turned to Pam and asked, "Does Roy have any hot friends? Not the guys from the warehouse, been there, done that, I even have a t-shirt," she said with a smug smile."

"Ooh! A chocolate fountain! You have to have a chocolate fountain," Kelly said excitedly. "My cousin had one at her wedding. Of course, I wasn't dating Ryan then, but this time, I'd have a delicious boy to feed those delicious chocolate dipped strawberries to…" she said in a dreamy voice.

"Have you thought about invitations?" Phyllis asked, getting down to business again. "One of my clients is a printer, I can set you up."

"Oh, okay, good," Pam murmured as she stirred her yogurt and nodded absently.

She frowned as she looked through the blinds at the deserted office; wondering where the guys had gone for lunch, wondering what had tempted Jim away from his beloved ham and cheese. She hadn't seen Roy since they parked the truck that morning. As expected, he'd been sore and surly, hardly uttering a word that morning except to complain about only having one clean uniform shirt hanging in the closet.

"And make sure Roy goes with the necktie and vest for his tuxedo. No one wears the bow tie and cummerbund anymore," Kelly said, curling her lip derisively.

"Got it," Phyllis said as she made a note on her legal pad.

"I like a classic tuxedo on a man," Angela mused without turning around.

"James Bond," Meredith agreed with an emphatic nod.

"Hey, did you hear that they cast a new Bond?" Kelly said as she looked up from the magazine she had been scouring. "Hot! The guy is sooooo hot!"

"I liked Pierce Brosnan," Phyllis said in an injured tone.

"Too old," Kelly said dismissively. "I mean, he _is_ hot for an old guy, but _this_ guy… I saw his picture in _People_."

Meredith smirked and muttered, "Her bible."

"She'd be better off to read _The Bible_," Angela snapped as she stood up and gathered the remains of her lunch, dumping it into the trash before storming from the room.

Meredith looked up from her sandwich and said, "And that's the way you get rid of Blondie."

Pam jumped as she looked up and saw Roy peering through the window, motioning for her to come out. "I'll be right back," she murmured as she edged her yogurt cup onto the table.

"Watch out! Don't get that on my _In Style Weddings_!" Kelly gasped as she pulled her magazines to safety.

"Aw, look at them," Phyllis sighed as she saw Pam hurry to meet Roy.

Kelly turned to look and then frowned as she asked, "How much of that beer belly do you think he can lose before the wedding?"

**

"Hey," Pam said as she stepped out of the break room.

"Hey, what's going on in there?" Roy asked.

Pam smiled wanly and said, "Oh, you know, wedding planning."

Rory nodded and then took her elbow, pulling her toward the conference room. "Pammy, about the wedding…" he began.

Pam stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest protectively. "What about it?"

"Well, I realized today that June 10th doesn't give you much time to plan."

"It's five months away, that's plenty of time," she said cautiously.

"Yeah, but don't you want to have lots of time to plan every little thing that you want?" he cajoled. "Maybe we should wait, get married next June," he suggested.

"Next June," she repeated flatly. "You want to postpone the wedding to next June."

"I just want to make sure that we're ready, I mean, everything is just how you want it," he said with an encouraging nod.

"Just what I want," she said slowly.

"Exactly. We don't have to be in any hurry, right? We've waited this long, we can wait until everything is perfect," he said with a decisive nod.

"Perfect," she muttered as she lowered her hands to her sides and clenched her fists.

"Great! Well, I have to get back down there," he said as he began backing out of the conference room. "Lots of paper to load," he added before he turned and fled for the safety of the warehouse door.

Pam stared blankly at the empty doorway. "What a load," she whispered. The anger bubbled up inside of her as she heard Jim's voice cracking with long suppressed emotion. _If I had you, I wouldn't ask you to marry me and then put you off for three years; I'd marry you right away. If I were engaged to you, it wouldn't take six snorkel shots and some cock and bull story from Captain Jack to get me to set a date._ She blinked rapidly as tears of anger filled her eyes. _We've waited this long... We've waited this long_, Roy's words taunted her. "What a load shit," she said aloud as she hurried for the warehouse door.

Pam opened the heavy door and made a beeline for the stairs. She made it down the first three before she heard Roy guffaw and call out, "Dodged the bullet again, boys!" as he slapped someone's hand. She froze, her hand tightening on the rail until her knuckles turned white.

"You are the master," one of the warehouse guys said with a laugh.

Pam's cheeks flamed as her tears of anger turned into tears of humiliation. She turned and crept silently back up the steps. She pushed through the door and gulped a steadying breath as she swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. The door latch caught, echoing loudly in the back hallway as she tried to calm herself.

She smoothed her hands over her skirt, straightened her shoulders and whispered to herself, "Dodged a bullet." Pam Beesly walked sedately back to the break room, let the door swing wide as she strode to the table littered with bridal propaganda, and began stacking the magazines.

"Hey, we haven't gotten to those yet," Kelly objected.

Phyllis looked up from her legal pad in surprise, and then her brow furrowed as she saw the resolute set of Pam's jaw. "Everything okay, Sweetie?" she asked cautiously as she placed her pen on top of the pad.

Pam offered the stack of magazines to Kelly, who looked up at her blankly. Her engagement ring caught the light, and Pam knew without a doubt that it was laughing its ass off. She placed the stack carefully on top of the open magazine Kelly had been perusing and said quietly, "Thanks anyway, but I won't be needing these."

_tbc_


	3. Kicking for the Surface

**Disclaimer: I own no part of The Office or its characters. As a matter of fact I own very little at all. No infringement is intended.**

**Kicking for the Surface**

The afternoon could not have been more bizarre. He had dreaded coming back from Chili's. He had dreaded hearing about gowns and flowers and the debate over photographer or videographer. He had dreaded seeing Pam again, knowing that things were moving forward regardless of what he had said the night before. When the person that you love obviously loves someone else more, don't you have to kind of give up, no matter what Michael Scott and Winston Churchill say?

But there he sat at his desk, watching the minute hand tick upwards, knowing that it was almost five o'clock and none of the things that he had dreaded had come to fruition. Jim spared a glance at the reception desk, but Pam's head was down, her eyes focused intently on some papers she was collating. Too intently. And the women in the office, Kelly in particular, had been quiet all afternoon. Too quiet. Something was up. Something had happened, but he didn't know what.

At three minutes to five, he heard the warehouse door slam shut, and moments later, Roy walked through the office, nodding and waving to people as he made his way to Pam's desk.

"Hey, Babe. We're done for the day," he said as he approached. He tapped his knuckles against the high counter in front of his fiancée and glanced over his shoulder toward Michael's office. "Can you go? I need to stop by the store on the way home, we're out of beer."

"Just give me a minute," Pam answered without looking up from the papers.

Roy blew out a breath and turned away from the desk, his gaze traveling over the room as he surveyed what he liked to call 'The Drones' whiling away the last few minutes of the work day. "So, Halpert, I knew I recognized Katy from somewhere," he said as he approached Jim's desk.

"You mean other than the time you bought that darling little evening clutch from her?" Jim asked, swinging his legs out from under his desk as he turned and gave Roy a half-hearted smirk.

Roy laughed. "Is that some kind of purse?"

"I guess so," Jim said with a shrug.

"I'll have to take your word for it, you know more about those things than I would," Roy guffawed.

"Well, when you date someone in the business…" Jim trailed off.

"Uh huh, sure," Roy said as he gave Jim a fake punch to the shoulder.

"Wow, you're still flying high, huh," Jim said, forcing a smile.

Roy glanced back over his shoulder at Pam and then turned back to Jim, flashing a satisfied smile. "Things are cool."

"Very cool," Jim agreed.

"I'm ready," Pam said as she stood up abruptly, clutching her purse.

"Okay, well, have a good night," Roy said to the room in general as he turned to see Pam heading for the door.

"Yeah, you too," Jim muttered under his breath as he turned back to his computer and reached for his mouse.

The minute the door closed behind them, Phyllis hissed, "I think something happened."

"Huh?"

"Something happened where?" Dwight demanded.

"Here. I think something happened with Roy and Pam," Phyllis said as she began gathering her belongings.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Kelly rushed from the annex. "Pam came into the break room and gathered up all the wedding stuff, and said she wouldn't need it," she reported.

"Are you saying that I spent $12.95 for three tiny pieces of chicken on a skewer for nothing?" Stanley grumbled as he stood up from his desk.

"This is really none of our business," Toby mumbled as he stood just behind Kelly.

"Maybe they're eloping," Michael said. When everyone swiveled to stare at him, he simply shrugged. "People elope all the time, run off to Vegas and get hitched. I always wanted to get married at the drive-thru chapel. I wonder if you can get fries with that," he added, cracking up at his own lame joke.

Jim turned his back to Michael, struggling to keep his expression neutral as he asked Phyllis, "She said she didn't need them?"

"Perhaps she simply didn't want you two meddling in their business," Angela suggested as she stood up, holding her purse to her chest. "She told you that her mother was helping with the planning."

"It sounded like more than that," Kelly insisted. She turned to Jim and asked, "Didn't she tell you anything?"

"Me?"

"Well, you're her friend," she persisted.

"No, I, uh… I was with the guys, remember?" Jim said as he quickly started shutting down his computer.

"Man that was great, huh? Just us guys, out for lunch, talking guy stuff," Michael said as he approached Jim's desk and hoisted one leg up, sitting on the edge of it, and effectively blocking Jim's departure.

"I'll write about it in my diary tonight," Stanley mumbled as he lumbered toward the door.

"Me too," Dwight answered with an emphatic nod. "Male bonding is important. It reminds out of our place in the natural order of life. The feminist leanings in popular culture today are too emasculating. Sometimes, some men simply need to be reminded that they are the dominant gender," he said as he caught Angela's eye.

Meredith snorted as she gathered her things. "Please. The only time you guys truly win is when you forget to put the toilet seat down and we fall in in the middle of the night." She looked up and said, "I'm heading for Poor Richard's, any of you big strong men want to buy me a drink?"

"I'll go," Toby said as he turned to go back to his desk.

"I could use a drink," Kevin said with an emphatic nod as he pushed back from his computer.

"We're not meeting my friends until later," Kelly said with a nod. "Ryan and I will go," she decided for the both of them.

"I have class. My test," Ryan reminded her as he turned to follow her back to the annex.

"Blow it off," Kelly answered breezily.

"I'm not blowing it off," Ryan said with an exasperated sigh.

Oscar stood up and shrugged into his coat. "I can go for one drink. Anyone else?"

"No, thank you. I need to get home, Sprinkles needs her shot," Angela said stiffly. "I just hope that I'm man enough to give it to her," she sniffed as she brushed past Dwight's desk.

"You just need a firm grip and a steady hand," Dwight said with a nod.

As the others followed Angela to the door, Michael's gaze followed them longingly. "You going?" Jim asked him.

"Are you?" Michael countered.

"I had some things I needed to attend to tonight, but if you are going to Poor Richard's, Michael, I could go too," Dwight offered quickly.

Jim shook his head as he tried to inch his chair back. "I think last night was enough of a party for me," he said quietly.

"Yeah, uh, me too," Michael agreed.

"I should get going. Mose and I are installing a new septic system. I need to get my hip waders on," Dwight said as he stood up.

Michael blinked, but couldn't resist. "Are you knee-deep in doo doo?" he asked.

Dwight rolled his eyes and said, "They aren't knee waders, Michael, they're hip waders," as if that should answer his question. "I just wish that we could produce more natural bacteria. Schrute men have extremely clean bowels," he said with a heavy sigh. "Goodnight."

"Night," Michael called after him as he waited for the door to close. The moment it latched, he turned back to Jim and said, "The wedding is off."

"What?"

"June 10th, it's a no go," Michael reported with a nod.

"How do you know that?" Jim asked, cautiously optimistic.

Michael shrugged and said, "Sometimes my blood sugar crashes pay off. When I get sleepy, I wander around. Today, I wanted some alone time, so I wandered down to the warehouse. If you stack the boxes just right, it's kind of like having a fort."

"A fort," Jim repeated blankly.

"I wasn't spying," Michael said quickly. "Not that I wouldn't spy if you needed me to."

"And I appreciate that," Jim said with a nod. "Listen, Michael, about what I told you last night…"

"Its okay, Jim, your secret is totally safe with me," Michael rushed to assure him. "I was just sitting in my fort, thinking about life in general, there's a lot of pressure that comes with this job, you know."

"Oh, I know," Jim answered with a solemn nod.

"I mean, worrying about you guys, and Jan, and whether or not I should put a cap on the party planning committee's cake budget… I mean, come on, those ice cream cakes aren't getting any cheaper."

"No, they aren't," Jim said with a sigh as he forcibly scooted his chair back from his desk. "Listen, can we just forget about last night?"

"No! No, you can't forget about it," Michael said as he jumped up. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Roy backed out on her again. I heard the guys talking, and they were all going on and on about how he's always managing to put Pam off, and how he'd bought himself another year before getting tied down to the old ball and chain."

"He did?"

"Yes! I told you that engaged wasn't married!"

"You did," Jim murmured.

"This is your chance! Go get her. Tell her how you feel," Michael said with an emphatic nod.

"I, uh…" Jim trailed off as he processed the information. "I'll think about it," he murmured as he pulled his bag and coat from the back of his chair.

"Well, don't think about it too long. You have to smite while the iron is hot!" Michael said as he clenched his fist. "And Pam is one hot iron. If we weren't friends…" he said with a meaningful waggle of his eyebrows.

"And I appreciate that," Jim smirked. "I appreciate it," he said as he gave Michael a distracted pat on the arm and then made his way to the door.

****

Pam stood in the living room doorway and blinked unbelievingly at the television screen. Well, not really at the screen, but at the man sprawled on the couch holding a beer and staring at the screen as if he hadn't just brushed her dreams aside. Again. She stared at the back of Roy's head, wondering what could possibly be going through it, but she feared that she already knew the answer. Just like she already knew the answer to her other questions. He didn't want to marry her. He didn't want to start a life and a family with her. He just wanted her to be here, waiting, just like she always had. And sadly enough, she knew exactly what he wanted. Another beer, maybe some chips. He wanted to watch the basketball game without her interrupting the game. He might want some fake engagement celebration sex if the Sixers win. If they don't, well then, all bets were off.

She faded quietly back into the kitchen, gnawing her bottom lip as she tugged on her engagement ring, pulling it as far as the first knuckle, but not daring to go beyond. Yet. She heard the sound of the remote hitting the coffee table with a rattle, and then a grunt as Roy leveraged himself out of the overstuffed sofa. She quickly turned to the sink and picked up a sponge. By the time he appeared, she was wiping down the countertops with a tad too much enthusiasm.

"How's the game going?" she asked as he opened the refrigerator and pulled another bottle of beer from the shelf.

"Okay. Halftime. The Sixers better step it up, they dodged a bullet, the Pistons were getting on a roll," he said as he wandered back to the living room without a backwards glance.

"Dodged a bullet," Pam whispered as she stared down at the sponge clutched in her hand. "Dodged a bullet," she muttered as she tossed the sponge into the sink angrily and headed toward the bedroom.

She yanked a small duffle bag from the closet, and then pulled some clothes from the hangers. At first, she packed only what she needed for the night and the next day at work, but as she gathered her toiletries from the bathroom, Pam realized that she was going to need more, so much more. She threw two pairs of jeans and a couple of tops into the bag, stuffing them down on top of the work clothes she had folded so carefully, suddenly anxious to make her escape. She zipped the bag closed and looked down at the clothes she had dressed in that morning, and then at her bare feet. She pulled a pair of socks from her dresser drawer and then rummaged through her closet for her second pair of Keds, the ones that were not so white anymore.

She heard Roy groan and say something in reply to one of the commentators on the television, and then hurriedly tied her shoes. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone and dialed directory assistance. "Hi, I need the number for a cab company. No, it doesn't matter which one," she said quietly. Pam's fingers tightened around the phone, clinging to it as she waited to be connected. The moment the dispatcher came on the line, she rattled off their address and asked how long it would take for the cab to arrive. After disconnecting, she slowly lowered the phone to her lap, staring down at it as she blinked back the tears that burned behind her eyes. Then she began to dial again. She took a breath, holding it deep in her lungs as she listened to the call ring through.

"Hi," she exhaled the word, drawing it out as the sound of his voice washed over her like a wave.

"Hey," Jim answered softly.

"I, uh, I need a ride. I wouldn't have called you but the cab company said it could be an hour until they could get here, so…"

"Where are you?"

"At hom… At, uh, Roy's," she said, correcting herself quickly.

"Okay. And you need a ride?" Jim asked slowly.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"I'll be right there," Jim answered. "Hang on, I'll be right there."

Pam disconnected, but hung onto the phone like a line thrown into the cold, murky waters of Lake Wallenpaupack. And that was when she knew that he was so much more than a friend, or even the guy who said he was in love with her. Jim Halpert was her life preserver. He had been for far more than the 24 hours since he had handed her his heart. She wanted to hang onto him, to swim up through the very center of him and wrap her arms around him, hanging on as he pulled her to safety.

She looked down at the bag poised waiting on the bed, and then closed her eyes as she realized that he couldn't do it alone. She would have to kick. She reached for the engagement ring that Roy had given her a lifetime ago, and pulled on it. She worked it past the first knuckle, and then swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. Gently, Pam pulled the ring over the second knuckle without letting the smooth gold band touch her trembling finger. She placed the ring gingerly on Roy's pillow and then stood up, smoothing her hands over her skirt as she stared down at it. Her gaze shifted to her now bare left hand, and she nodded, relieved to be finally free of its weight.

Pam walked to the nightstand on her side of their bed, and pulled a pad and paper from the drawer. She smiled as she saw the words, 'Swing' and 'Travis' written in her own handwriting. She swayed, unconscious of the movement until the gentle motion was interrupted by Roy shouting, "Yes! Like that! Just like that!" at the television, and reality once again came crashing down.

Pam tore the sheet from the pad and crumpled it in her hand as she dropped the pad to the bed and bent over to scrawl a quick note. She placed the pad next to the ring perched on Roy's pillow and then looked out the window. Exhaling slowly as she saw Jim's car pull to a stop in front, Pam turned, picked up her bag, and took one last glance at the ring that had become her anchor. Her gaze fluttered over the notepad, and she spoke the words written there aloud. "I can't do this anymore."

Yes, just like that Pam Beesly walked quietly through the house she had shared with Roy to the kitchen door. She opened it slowly, knowing that the blaring television would drown out the sound of her departure from his life, and closed it quietly in her wake, so as not to interrupt the game.

****

Jim gripped the steering wheel with both hands as he stared at her front door. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do. _Should I knock? Should I just wait? Does she know I'm here waiting, just like I've always been waiting? _When he heard her voice on the other end of the line, Jim's heart almost leapt from his chest. She didn't sound like the Pam he knew. _She sounded small, broken._ His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he steeled himself to go to the door, to pick her up as she had asked him to, to kill Roy if he had hurt her again. _Or, rather, to let himself be killed by Roy, 'cause let's face it, the guy is totally going to kick my ass, _he thought as he let his head fall forward._ It doesn't matter, let him. Let him kill me if that's what it takes to get her out. _

_She wants out. She wants me to pick her up. _Jim lifted his head and reached for the door handle, pulling on it as he killed the ignition with his other hand. As he rose from the car, he staggered back slightly, startled by Pam's appearance at the passenger door. "Oh, hi, I was just gonna," he began to say as she opened the door.

"Let's go," Pam said as she stuffed the bag into the passenger floorboard and ducked down into the seat.

"Uh, okay," Jim murmured as he lowered himself into the car once more. "Where are we going?" he asked, trying to force a more upbeat tone as he started the car.

"Anywhere but here," she answered bleakly.

Jim nodded and put the car in gear, pulling smoothly from the curb as if he drove getaway vehicles every day. He glanced over at her as they approached the stop sign at the end of her street. "Paris? Rome? I hear Wilkes-Barre is lovely this time of year," he tried to joke.

"There are some chain hotels on Montage Mountain Road," she answered dully.

"Pam, what's going on?" he asked as he pulled to a complete stop.

Pam turned to look at him and said, "I need you to be my friend, okay? Tonight I just need my friend."

"Okay," he answered with a slow nod.

"I can't talk about this now," she said, her voice breaking. "Please, can you just give me a ride to a hotel?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that," he told her quietly. Jim glanced in both directions and then pulled away from the stop sign. He kept his eyes on the road, but that didn't mean that he didn't sense her shoulders relaxing, or hear her breathing grow more even as they put block after block behind them, but he kept his mouth clamped firmly shut. As he turned onto 81, he asked, "Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine," Pam answered automatically.

"Which one?" he asked as he nodded to the hotels that had popped up along the highway.

"Doesn't matter."

Jim pulled into the parking lot of the first hotel that looked decent and pulled under the portico. He put the car in park and turned to her. "Do you have any money?" he asked, coming up with the first question he could think of that wasn't, 'Are you leaving Roy?'

"Yeah, I have some, and my credit card," she said as she lifted her purse onto her lap.

"Do you want me to come in?" he asked, praying that her answer would be yes.

Pam shook her head, still staring at the hood of his car. "Thanks for coming to get me," she said softly.

Jim pressed his lips together, trying to hold back the questions that threatened to burst free. "Sure," he answered quietly. "Do you need a ride to work in the morning?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure. I'll call you if I do," Pam promised as she finally turned to look at him again.

"Okay."

"Thanks, Jim," Pam said as she reached for the door handle.

Jim watched as she climbed from the car, tugging at the overstuffed bag she had packed, and then throwing the strap over her shoulder as pushed the door closed with her hip. He watched as she squared her shoulders and marched into the hotel lobby. He waited, long after the sliding doors had closed behind her, telling himself that he just wanted to be sure that she got a room, but hoping she would change her mind and come for him.

****

Pam wrapped her fingers tightly around the keycard in her hand. She knew without looking through the wide sliding doors that he would still be out there. She wanted more than anything to dash through those doors and into his waiting arms, knowing that he would catch her, knowing he'd buoy her up. Pam dared a quick glance at the door, and smiled softly as she saw that she was right. She turned away from the dark red gleam of his car under the portico lights and looked down at the card in her hand before heading to the elevator.

Alone, Pam Beesly stepped into the hotel room and turned the bolt behind her, locking herself in as much as keeping everyone else out. She dropped her bag to the floor and pulled her cell phone from her purse, holding down the key to speed dial before she even dropped to the end of the bed.

And then, she began kicking.


	4. Clinging to a Preserver

**A/N: Thank you all for your fantastic feedback on this story. It is very much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I own no part of this show or its characters. No infringement is intended upon those who do.**

**Clinging to a Preserver**

Pam wanted to pretend that she was shocked when she and her mother saw Roy's truck parked just where it was the night before. "He didn't go to work," Pam murmured as she stared at the offending vehicle.

"It doesn't look like it," her mom answered. "Do you want to try to come back later?"

Pam sighed as she pulled her cell from her purse and displayed the list of unanswered calls from Roy. "I have a feeling he'll still be here."

"So, we're going in," her mom said with a nod.

"We're going in," Pam replied grimly as she pulled on the door handle.

The moment her key turned in the lock, Roy's voice boomed from the other side of the door. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded as he jerked the door open, yanking the keys from her grip. "What the hell does this mean?" he shouted, holding up the note she had left on his pillow.

Pam took an involuntary step back as her now ex-fiancée loomed over her threateningly, unshaven and reeking of beer.

"Hello, Roy. We've come to pack Pam's things," Mrs. Beesly said calmly.

Roy instantly backed down as he noticed Pam's mom standing behind her for the first time. His tone changed in an instant. "Pammy, baby, I've been worried sick all night. Where did you go? Why did you leave?" he asked in a more conciliatory tone.

Pam gaped at him for a moment, and then recalled that he didn't know what she knew; everything that she knew. "I just want to get my things," she said softly.

"Get your things? Pam, why?" he asked cajolingly.

His patronizing tone struck her like a match; igniting a fire of indignation in her stomach. "Because you have dodged the bullet once and for all, Roy," she said as she pushed past him into the house they had shared.

"What?" he asked as he immediately turned to follow her.

"This is not how this should be, Roy," she told him as she jerked the closet door open. She grabbed a handful of hangers from the rod and tossed the clothes onto the unmade bed. "You should want to marry me. You should be so excited to marry me that you wouldn't want to wait," she said as she scissored her arms and lifted a larger section of clothes from the rod. She turned to look at him, her eyes blazing, and said, "I should want to marry you, but I don't. Not anymore."

"What? Why?" he sputtered as he tried to grab her arm.

"Roy," Mr. Beesly said, quietly reminding him of her presence.

Roy immediately released his hold on Pam and shook his head. "I don't understand."

"I don't understand you either," Pam said looking him in the eye. "Don't you think that after all this time, I should?"

"Is this about postponing the wedding? We can move it back. We can do it on June 10th if that's what you really want," he said desperately.

"It's not what I want," Pam said softly, clutching the clothes to her chest.

"Well, then, what?" Roy asked, throwing his arms up in frustration.

"It's done, Roy. It's over," Pam said flatly.

"Over?" he asked, stunned by her pronouncement.

Pam turned to her mother and asked, "Mom, can you get my stuff from the bathroom? There should be a travel bag under the sink."

Pam and Roy stood frozen in place as her mom ducked into the bathroom and began to sort through the medicine cabinet. Pam turned back to him, still holding the armload of hangers in front of her like a shield. "Roy," she began in a more gentle tone.

"Pammy, I don't want this. I don't want you to go," he said, desperately fighting against the fierce tide of her new-found determination.

"It's time, Roy," she answered firmly.

"Time? Why is it time? Who says it's time?" he asked, his voice rising.

Pam shot a meaningful glance at the bathroom door and then carefully placed the armload of hangers on top of the others she had tossed to the bed. She turned back to Roy, tears brimming in her eyes as she simply said, "I do."

****

He was scared. The nervousness knotting his stomach existed on two levels, and right now, they were battling for supremacy. On one level was his fear that Roy had found Pam, and that something bad had happened. On the other, was the more gnawing fear that Roy had found Pam and something good had happened. At least, something they might think was good. It wouldn't be good for him. It would be bad. Very bad.

The fact that she had called the night before asking him to help her get away from Roy had buoyed him. And he had clung to that buoy all night long, bobbing along on waves of hope that he had dared not ride before. Michael was right, engaged wasn't married. _Engaged, BFD._ He held onto that hope all through the night as he hung onto his pillow, wishing it was Pam. As usual.

He had lain awake, his phone clutched in his hand, just in case, but no call had come. He had dressed for work, slurped down a bowl of cereal, and walked to his car, the phone never more than arm's length from him at all times. When she didn't call for a ride to work, he reasoned that she may have opted for a cab. When she wasn't at her desk, he decided that taking a day off was probably a good idea. _Why spend an interminable Friday watching the clock tick by, when you had more important things to figure out?_ When he heard Darryl mention that Roy had called in sick that morning, he forced himself to picture Pam sitting in that bland hotel room. Alone. _Please, God, let her be alone. Or, at least, not with him._

He sat as his desk randomly typing nonsensical numbers into a spreadsheet, hoping that he looked busy enough for everyone to leave him alone. Of course, that level of perception didn't quite reach Michael.

"Jim!" he called as he strolled from his office. "How about lunch today? Pam isn't here, so you can probably use the company, and I know that I can," he said as he perched on the corner of Jim's desk. "Jan won't call me back," he murmured.

"I, uh, no, I can't today," Jim said as he sat back in his chair, searching desperately for an excuse. "I was going to run some errands at lunch today."

"Errands?" Michael scoffed. "Why would you run errands today? Tomorrow is Saturday, the perfect day to run those pesky _errands_," he said with a smile of disbelief. "Blow it off! We can go to Hooter's," he offered enticingly. When Jim still resisted, Michael moved in for the kill. "It'll be great. Just two guys, hanging out, sharing secrets over a basket of wings…" Jim's eyes widened as his eyebrows shot up. "My treat," Michael added with an enticing smile.

Jim sighed and lightly pounded the arm of his chair with the palm of his hand. "Why not?"

"Cool, let's go," Michael said as he hopped up.

"Um, it's only nine forty-five," Jim said as he turned and looked at the clock.

Michael's shoulders slumped. "Aw, man, that sucks," he groaned as he trudged wearily back to his office.

Jim passed another hour, his cell phone perched next to his keyboard, blank and silent. He gave up on the fake numbers and decided to make a couple of sales calls, convinced that once he was on the phone, the cell would ring. It didn't. When Michael emerged again at eleven, whining about possible starvation, he gave up the fight. He excused himself to the men's room, casually pocketing the phone as he stood, and made his way into the break room. Once the men's room door closed behind him, he pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed.

Her voicemail kicked on, and he ran his hand through his hair, rumpling it even more before rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, it's me. I just, I wanted to check in and make sure that you were okay. You aren't missing much here today. Michael is taking me to Hooter's for lunch, so there's a highlight," he said with a wry smile as he lowered his hand from his neck. He raised his head, catching his haggard reflection in the mirror. "Um, let me know that you're okay, okay? I just, I just need to know. Thanks," he said quietly and then closed the phone.

A minute later, Jim walked out of the bathroom, crossed the break room and opened the door as he called, "Okay, let's hit it."

"Hitting it right now!" Michael answered as he jumped up and followed Jim to the door. "This is gonna be great, huh?"

****

"I liked the other one better," Pam told her mother.

"I agree."

Pam glanced at the jumble of her possessions piled in the back seat of her mom's car. "It's available now," she said with a shrug.

"We can look some more if you want," her mom offered.

Pam shook her head and said, "Let's go back over there and I'll fill out the paperwork."

As they pulled away from the old brick apartment house, Mrs. Beesly shot her daughter a worried glance and asked, "Are you sure about all this?"

Pam chewed the inside of her cheek as she stared unseeingly at the passing streets. "I'm sure," she said quietly.

"Okay." Her mother hesitated for a moment, but as they pulled to a stop at a red light she turned to Pam and asked, "And Jim?"

"I can't think about Jim yet," Pam answered a little too quickly.

Mrs. Beesly smiled, knowing her daughter well enough to know that even if she thought she couldn't, Pam was thinking about Jim. "I thought about it last night after you called," she said quietly. "All I could think about was how unhappy you have sounded when we talk about Roy, but whenever you mention Jim, well, you sound anything but unhappy when you talk about him."

"Mom, please."

"I couldn't say anything before, because you are as stubborn as your father," she said with an affectionate smile. "You were determined to marry Roy, and as much as I care for Roy, I have to tell you, I was a little nervous about it."

"Now you tell me?" Pam asked as she turned an incredulous glare on her mother.

"Oh, Pam, you wouldn't have listened," she sighed. "You and Roy are just so different, you always have been. I guess that was probably part of the attraction, but can you make that last in a marriage? I don't know."

"Yeah, we are different," Pam conceded.

"And some difference is okay, I mean, you don't want to marry your twin," he mother joked lamely as she turned left onto a tree lined street. "But when it comes down to it, you have to want the same things. You have to understand each other's needs, and want to be the one to fill those needs. You have to want it bad enough to fight for it. You never fought with Roy, Pam, you just gave in."

"Wow. Thanks, Mom," Pam muttered as they pulled to a stop in front of an old house that had been converted into apartments.

"I wasn't trying to insult you, Sweetie. I was just pointing out that you need to be true to you first. You need to be able to stand up and say, 'This is who I am. This is what I need,' and not be afraid of someone telling you no. If they tell you no, well then, that person doesn't really know you or understand you. And if you accept that no, then you lose part of yourself," she said as she reached over and covered Pam's fidgeting hands with her own.

"Yeah," Pam said in a choked voice as she looked down at their hands. "I want that back."

"You'll get it. You'll find that guy who knows you, knows what you need, and wants to give you what you want. He'll support you and encourage you; he'll build you up, not knock you down," she said as she squeezed Pam's hands. "But first, you have to stand on your own two feet."

"The light in that apartment was really good," Pam said as she looked up at the second story of the faded yellow house.

"I noticed that too."

"And it was big, but not too big."

"Big enough to have a little area to use as a kind of a studio," her mom confirmed.

"You think so?"

"Let's have another look, what do you say?" Mrs. Beesly said as she released Pam's hands and reached for the door handle.

"I say yes," Pam answered as she opened the passenger door; her eyes fixed on the front of the house she hoped would feel more like home.

****

It was all he could do to keep from checking his messages. The moment they walked out of Hooter's he heard the little chime that had been drowned out by the cacophony of noise in the restaurant. He quickly silenced the phone, but dropped it back into his pocket as Michael looked over at him curiously. "Probably my mom," Jim said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll call her back later."

"It's nice that you're close to your mom. My mom and I, well, we're close, but I've always gotten along better with my Nana," Michael said wistfully.

"I don't know that my mom and I are close, close," Jim murmured.

"Pam's really close to her mom, too," Michael continued as if he hadn't said anything. "That's why I didn't mind that she called in this morning. I think family is the most important thing in the world. I hope that my kids drop everything when I come to visit them."

"Pam's mom?" Jim asked, sitting up a little straighter in his seat.

"Yeah, she came to town unexpectedly, so Pam needed to take the day off," Michael said as he cast Jim a sidelong glance.

"Oh."

"They're probably shopping. That's what women do on their free days, right?"

"Right," Jim muttered, knowing that Pam was not a big fan of shopping just for the sake of shopping, and that her mom lived far enough away that an impromptu trip was a stretch. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket, beckoning to him, warm and promising. He could practically feel each flash of the message light; he could almost hear her voice asking for his help, needing him to come to her.

Jim exhaled slowly as they turned into the parking lot and Michael wheeled into his usual spot. "Hey, thanks for lunch," he managed to say as he opened the door.

"It was fun, huh? We should do that more often," Michael said enthusiastically as he climbed from the Sebring.

"Yeah, um, I'm just gonna see what she needed," Jim answered as he pulled his phone from his pocket. "You go on up."

"Oh, okay, yeah, I'll go on up," Michael said, clearly disappointed that their lunchtime camaraderie was ending so soon.

Jim ducked his head, shielding the screen from the pale light of the sun and sighing with relief when he saw a missed call from Pam's number. He pressed and held the '1' for his voicemail, but his smile faded as he heard her say only, "I'm okay. I can't talk now, but I'm okay."

Jim closed his eyes as he closed the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He wasn't exactly sure what he thought he would hear, but he had hoped for more than that. His lips pressed into a grim line, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and headed for the door, ducking his head against the icy wind.

****

Pam sat with her legs crossed in the middle of the living room floor of her new apartment, craning her neck as she gazed at every wall, every corner, and every window. It was hers, all hers. She ran her thumb over the key in her palm and then stared down at the Toyota emblem with a small smile. Her mom had to cosign on the loan with her, but it was hers, just like the apartment.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the hotel?" her mom asked as she stepped from the bedroom.

"No, I want to stay here," Pam answered.

"Honey, you don't even have a bed."

"I'll get one tomorrow," she promised.

"I feel just awful, leaving you here like this. Are you sure you don't want to come home with me?" her mother asked again.

"I'm sure."

"Well, I inflated that mattress and put the sheets on it, but we really should have washed them first, they feel like cardboard."

Pam smiled as she unfolded her legs and stood up, still clutching the car key in her hand. "Thank you. For everything, Mom," she said quietly.

"There's no need to thank me, Sweetie. I just wish you'd come home for a day or two, let me take care of you, let Daddy spoil you," she said with a tired smile.

"You've done enough. I don't know what I would have done without you," Pam said, her throat clogging with tears.

"You would have been just fine," Mrs. Beesly said as she smoothed her hand over Pam's cheek. "You've always been a lot stronger than you gave yourself credit for."

"You think?"

"I know."

Pam hugged her mother tightly and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you, Mom, I love you."

"I love you too," she answered as she hugged Pam tightly. "I just want you to be happy, okay?"

"I'll try," Pam murmured in a tear soaked voice.

"You will be happy," her mother said fiercely.

Pam pulled back, wiping her tears away with her fingertips, and looking around the empty apartment. "I think I will be here."

Her mother nodded and said, "I wish I didn't have to get back for this fundraiser tomorrow. I'll come back up on Sunday, and we can go pick up whatever else you need."

"You don't have to, Mom. I can get whatever I need on my own," Pam said quickly.

Mrs. Beesly smile and kissed her daughter's damp cheek. "I know you can."

After seeing her mom to her car, Pam walked slowly the stairs to the empty apartment. She locked the door carefully behind her and then turned out the overhead light in the empty living room. She turned and walked toward the bedroom, pulling her cell phone from her pocket as she closed the door behind her, blocking out the emptiness. She clutched the phone in her palm as she took in the clothes hung neatly in the closet, the small lamp on the floor and the inflatable bed, painstakingly covered in the sheets and comforter she and her mother had chosen at Target that afternoon.

Pam ignored the mish mash of possessions piled haphazardly in the corner as she lowered herself to the mattress, her eyebrows rising as the air bed held firm under her weight. She opened her phone and frowned at the display of missed calls. She scrolled through them quickly, just checking to see if there were any that were not from Roy, and then pressed the buttons to clear the log. She picked up the book she had tossed into the shopping cart and switched on the lamp, adding a little extra light as she snuggled down onto her pillows and tried to immerse herself in the pages.

Pam made it about an hour. She turned to the start of a new chapter, read the first line, and suddenly realized that she had absolutely no idea what this book was about. Sitting up, she tossed it aside and reached for her phone again. She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over a speed dial key she had set long ago, but used far too infrequently.

****

The beer bottle was cold between his thighs. The cold seeped through his pants, effectively chilling his skin and cooling his jets. He stared disinterestedly at the basketball game that played on the television, purposefully averting his gaze from the phone that sat silent beside him. Jim drained the bottle of beer in three gulps, and then scowled at it as if willing it to magically refill. With a grunt, he pried himself from the couch and carried the bottle to the kitchen, dropping it into the can atop the other he had placed there a short time before. He yanked the refrigerator door open, and this time, grabbed two. He twisted the cap from one, and tossed it in the direction of the trash can, snorting at himself as he missed from close range, and had to bend to retrieve it.

And then his phone rang.

He carried the beers in one hand and the stray cap in the other as he made his way back to the couch and peered cautiously down at the phone. His heart leapt when he saw her number. Jim promptly dropped the bottle cap onto the couch cushion as he snatched up the phone. "Hello?" he said, wincing at the breathless sound of his own voice.

"Are you busy?" Pam asked cautiously.

"No, uh, not at all," he assured her as he circled the end of the couch and dropped down onto the cushion, wincing as the fluted edge of the bottle cap bit him in the butt. He shifted away from it, placing his beers on the coffee table as he asked, "How are you?"

"The question is, where am I," she corrected with a sly smile.

"Where? Um, well, you rejected Paris and Rome," he said slowly. "Tokyo?" he guessed.

"Close. I'm on Poplar Street," she told him.

"That was my next guess, since it too is in the far-east," Jim said with a sage nod. "What are you doing on Poplar Street? Or can you not divulge that information?"

"I'm in my new apartment," she answered as she flopped back onto the air bed, her giddy smile turned into a scowl when she bounced like a quarter on it.

"Wow. New apartment," Jim said slowly as a smile curved the corners of his lips.

"Yes, and parked right out front is my new car," she reported.

"Wow. New apartment, new car… Which bank did you knock over, Beesly?" he teased.

Pam sobered a bit and said, "Uh, Pennstar."

"You really robbed a bank?" he asked in an impressed tone.

"I closed out the savings account I had for the wedding," she answered quietly.

"Oh." Jim sucked in a sharp breath and then murmured, "Pam, I'm sorry."

"Are you?" she whispered.

Jim blinked, taken aback by her blunt question. "I'm, uh, sorry that you are sad."

"But are you sorry?" she pressed. "Are you sorry that you told me?"

Jim let his head fall back against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling. "No," he said at last.

Pam nodded and said, "I'm going to need some time to think."

"I get it," he answered.

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I do."

Pam nodded and took a deep breath, battling back the emotion his simple words stirred in her. "I'm going shopping tomorrow. I have nothing," she confessed with a self-conscious laugh.

"Oh, boy, shopping," Jim muttered good-naturedly, warmed by the sound of her laugh.

"I know, but at least it's for stuff I need," Pam commiserated. "I plan on cleaning Target out tomorrow."

"Well, they had it coming," he said with a nod.

"That's how I see it."

There was a pause, another stretch of silence that hung between them like an ocean. But this time the waters didn't look quite so cold and forbidding. This time, he could hear her soft breathing, steady and sure. This time, she knew without a doubt that he was there if she needed him.

"If you need help with anything…" he said, breaking the spell.

"You'll be the first person I call," she told him.

"Well, congratulations on your new place. And the car. What kind of car?" he asked.

"A Toyota Yaris," she answered.

"Toyota's are always a good choice," he said with s smile.

"I thought so."

"Have fun shopping tomorrow."

Pam smirked and said, "Yeah, it'll be tons of fun."

"You know, most women like shopping," he pointed out.

Pam smiled. "And most men don't know a damn thing about women. Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Pam," he said quietly, and closed the phone.

Jim sat up and reached for the bottles of beer on the coffee table. He took a sip from the open one, and then rolled to his feet, carrying the lucky victim back to his brethren in the fridge.


	5. Navigating the High Seas with the Dread

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but a severe case of writer's block. I am simply borrowing these characters from their rightful owners to try to work through it.

**Navigating the High Seas with the Dread Pirate Beesly**

Jim walked through the door Monday morning, and Pam was sitting at her desk, just like it was any other Monday. He hesitated, the toe of one shoe bumping the heel of the other as he tried to remember the basic mechanics involved in walking.

"Good morning, Pam," he managed to squeak, his voice breaking like it hadn't since he was thirteen.

"Morning, Jim," Pam answered with her customary smile.

For a split second, he wondered if he had dreamed it all, his confession, her defection, something about a hotel, shopping at Target and a Yaris. He had to remind himself that there was a brand new Toyota Yaris parked in the lot. And then, she looked up and met his eyes.

Her eyes almost didn't look like her eyes, and he knew those eyes. He knew them better than he knew his own. How many times had he looked into those eyes searching for the answers he craved? He knew every fleck of gold that lightened the green, he knew that the tiny brown speckles could overtake the gold and green when she was angry or upset, and he knew that when she was happy, they were the color of fresh spring leaves. But today, they were different. A bit greyer, the green silvered by something that hadn't been there before. His brown knit as he tried to put his finger on exactly what it was. And then, Pam smiled and he had his answer.

This new green was calm, soothing, and a little more bold. This new Pam seemed stronger, surer, and a hell of a lot sturdier than the one he had spirited away from her house just a few short days before.

"Uh, hi," he stammered, trying to break away from her gaze.

Pam's smile warmed as she tilted her head a bit and said, "Hi."

A small laugh escaped him before he could choke it back, and Jim shook his head to clear it. "I should, um, good morning," he mumbled again as he nodded to his desk and then hurried to his chair.

Pam ducked her head, unable to suppress the pleased smile that curved her lips. She shuffled the papers on her desk, not daring to look up until someone cleared their throat a moment later. She looked up to see Darryl hovering near the counter. "Oh. Hi, Darryl," Pam said with a puzzled frown.

"Hey, Pam. Can I, uh… Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked in a low voice as he nodded to the door.

"Um, sure," Pam answered, rising cautiously from her chair as Darryl walked to the door and held it open for her. She stepped out into the hall and crossed her arms over her chest protectively as she looked up at him. "What's up?"

Darryl glanced around to be sure that no one lingered in the hall and then clasped his hands nervously as he said, "Roy got arrested last night. D.U.I."

"Oh no!" Pam gasped, covering her mouth. "Is he okay?"

"He's all right. Ran his truck off the road, got a little banged up, but he's fine," Darryl assured her. "His brother bailed him out, and he's at home now. He, uh, asked me to tell you. I guess he tried to call you."

Pam's cheeks flooded with color as she recalled the calls she had ignored the night before. She had been too engrossed in trying to assemble a TV stand to stop what she was doing to argue with him again. She hadn't even bothered to check her voice mail, expecting to hear the same alternating apologies and accusations he had been leaving there for three days. "We broke up," Pam said quietly, as if trying the words on for size.

"Yeah, he may have mentioned that," Darryl said with a grimace. "The thing is, Pam, he refused the tests, and now his license is suspended, so he can't get to work and back."

"Oh."

"And the company has a pretty strict drug and alcohol policy, especially when it comes to people who have to use heavy equipment. You know, the forklifts, the cherry pickers, so I'm trying to keep him out of trouble, you know? I guess I'm trying to tell you that he's gonna need some help," Darryl explained.

There was something in Darryl's tone that made her spine stiffen. Pam's eyebrow's lifted as she looked up at him. "Where was he?"

"What?"

"Where was he last night before he got into the wreck?"

"We were at Lonnie's playin' poker."

"And did you just not notice that maybe Roy had a little too much to drink?" she asked pointedly.

"I've seen him drunker," he said with a puzzled frown.

"I see." Pam took a deep breath, her fingers biting into her arms as she stared up at him defiantly. "Sounds like this was more your fault than mine."

"What?" Darryl reared back in surprise.

"Well, if you were trying to keep him out of trouble last night, you wouldn't have to do this today."

"Listen, I just told Toby that he called in sick, but if he doesn't show up tomorrow, I'm gonna have to report that," Darryl said impatiently.

Feeling hijacked, Pam stared him down. "And you want what from me?"

"Uh, excuse me, Pam?" Jim called as he held the office door open and poked his head into the hallway. "The phone…"

"I'll be right there," Pam said without breaking eye contact with Darryl.

When the door closed again she took a steadying breath and said, "I know that you probably think I'm a real bitch for not running to his rescue, but you should know that I heard everything he told you guys after he came up here to postpone the wedding. I know that you must think that this must be my responsibility because he was my finance, but it's not. Not anymore. You are his friend. You let him drive. You can pick him up and bring him to work," she said as she turned on her heel and marched back into the office.

When the door closed behind her, she listened for the phone and then looked up at Jim with a bewildered frown. He shrugged and said, "I answered the phone. I just wasn't sure that was a conversation that you wanted to be involved in, so I thought I'd try to give you an out."

Pam's eyes widened and a relieved smile curved her lips. "Yeah, um, no. It wasn't. Thank you," she said as she hurried to the safety of the reception desk.

"No problem," he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered back to his desk.

****

When the clock inched toward lunchtime, she watched as Jim stood up from his desk and headed into the break room holding a brown paper bag. And then she saw Phyllis follow. Then Kelly. And then Kevin. That's when she knew that she couldn't walk in there. There would be questions, and she wasn't ready to share the answers. There would be opinions, and she didn't want to hear them. She wished that she had asked Jim to hang back, to go to lunch with her, to shield her from those questions. But she knew that she couldn't do that. He had to have questions of his own, and if anyone in that room was entitled to hear the answers, it was Jim. And she wanted to give them to him. She wanted to talk to him, but not here, not now. She wanted to explain some things, but not over the phone. She just wanted him nearby, but not too close. Not yet. When she was ready.

Pam stood up and pulled her purse from the desk drawer. She shrugged into her coat, keeping a wary eye on the break room door as she made her way to Michael's office and said, "I have to run an errand, but it shouldn't take too long. Are you still okay with me leaving a little early?"

Michael raised his head from the take-out container of pasta, a long string of linguine dangling from his mouth and adhering to his chin before he could slurp it up. "That's fine," he mumbled through stuffed cheeks. "What's wrong with your cable?"

"Nothing. It just hasn't been hooked up yet," she said as she freed her hair from the collar of her coat.

Michael swallowed the lump of pasta and tugged at his tie to help ease it down. "You don't have cable?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"New apartment," Pam said quietly.

"You guys moved? I didn't know that. Hey, didn't I hear Darryl say that Roy was out sick? Can't he meet the cable guy?

"Roy doesn't live there," Pam said flatly.

Michael opened his mouth to say something and then clamped it shut as he focused intently on Pam's now bare left hand. He nodded slowly and then asked, "Do you need a hug?"

Pam shook her head adamantly and said, "Nope. I just need cable." She clamped her mouth shut before she could spill the beans about the bed being delivered that afternoon, not wanting to hear the commentary she was sure that little tidbit would elicit. "Be back in a little bit," she said as she turned to leave.

Michael cocked his head, waiting until he heard the door close behind her before he bolted out of his desk. He paused in the doorway and then went back to snag the bowl of linguine from his desk before hurrying to the break room. When he burst through the door, he saw Phyllis and Kelly leaning toward Jim intently as he held up his hands to ward them off.

"Pam got an apartment?" he demanded, staring hard at Jim as he pointed the bowl of pasta at him accusingly.

"That's the word on the street," Jim conceded with a tired sigh. When they all started firing questions at him, he held up his hands again. "I don't know!" he said loudly enough to startle them into submission. He watched as Phyllis and Kelly sank back into their chairs and Michael lowered the pasta bowl slowly to his side. "All I know is that she and Roy have broken up and then Pam has a new apartment."

"And a new car," Kelly added helpfully.

"Right," Jim confirmed with a nod. "Other than that, I don't know anything more than you guys do," he said, meeting Michael's gaze at last.

"I see," Michael murmured as he nodded slowly. "Okay, well, both Pam and Roy are members of this family," he began cautiously. "I guess that all that we can do is be as supportive as we can be to those members who need us." He nodded his approval for his own suggestion. "Of course, Pam is more of a member… A bigger member… Well, not a member, member; like as in a 'member'," he said as he glanced meaningfully down at his crotch, his brow knit into a frown.

"We get it, Michael," Phyllis said as she rolled her eyes.

Jim covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his smile as he made a mental note to remember to tell Pam about this as soon as he thought she could find the humor in it. "Right," he said as he straightened up and picked up his ham and cheese. "We just need to give them a little time to sort it all out," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Right. Okay, well, um, Jim? My office?" Michael said as he back toward the door.

Jim sighed heavily as he dropped his half eaten sandwich back into the bag and stood up to follow. When he stepped into the doorway, he saw Michael standing at attention, staring straight ahead with one hand resting on the door handle, the other clutching his bowl. "Michael, I really don't know anything more than that," he said in a low voice.

"Come in, please," Michael said stiffly. He waited until Jim stepped inside and then closed the door carefully after him. Michael then closed every one of the blinds, ignoring Dwight's indignant stare as he closed the last set. When he turned and motioned to a guest chair, Jim sighed and dropped down into it, clutching the brown paper bag in his fist.

Michael walked around the desk and placed his bowl carefully at the center of the blotter before taking his seat opposite Jim. He clasped his hands in front of him, his face solemn, and his eyes downcast. He cleared his throat softly and then raised his eyes to meet Jim's. His green eyes twinkled as he whispered, "Oh my God!"

"Michael, no," Jim tried to protest.

"Yes, Jim, yes! Don't you see? It was meant to be!"

"Michael, it doesn't mean anything."

"You keep saying that, but it does. It means that you have a shot!" he said with a beaming smile.

"Not necessarily."

"Jim, you have to stop being so negative. Persistence is the key, you know that. Sales rule number one, 'Never accept no as an answer'. You just have to find your opening, and then get in there and close the deal," Michael said encouragingly.

"Michael, I don't think Pam is ready…" Jim began.

"That's fine, she may not be ready, but you have to be sure that you're the one she turns to when she is. You have to be her Yogi Bear," he concluded with a firm nod.

"The cartoon? You want me to steal her a picnic basket?"

"Baseball guy. Very famous. He was a catcher. Get it? Catcher? Catch her?" Michael said, leaning forward and waggling his eyebrows.

"Got it," Jim answered with a sage nod.

"But you can't wait," Michael cautioned. "You need to be up there, front and center, right now. Step into the batter's cage and point to the end zone like Baby Ruth."

"Yogi Berra, batter's box, outfield, Babe Ruth," Jim muttered under his breath as he processed the validity of Michael's convoluted analogy. He nodded slowly and then met Michael's earnest gaze. "I will, um, think about it," Jim promised quietly.

"Don't think, do! If you wait, some other guy might swoop right in there!" Michael insisted, shaking his head vehemently.

"I will do my best to crowd the plate," Jim said as he stood to leave.

"Okay, but I think it might play better if you let her order her own food," Michael said with a worried frown, following Jim to the door. "You don't want her to think that you're cheap."

"Ooh, good point," Jim said quickly as he opened the door and then drew up short as Pam came rushing back into the office holding a Styrofoam carry out container. "Hey," he called to her as she set the container down long enough to shed her coat.

"Oh, hi," Pam said with a shy smile, hoping that the color flooding her cheeks would be attributed to the brisk cold outside.

"You gonna eat?" he asked, holding up the bag that contained the remainder of his sandwich.

"I thought you ate earlier," Pam commented, fidgeting under Michael's intense scrutiny.

Jim shot Michael a warning look over his shoulder, and then smirked when the boss man retreated into his office. "Come on in and eat, no one will bother you," he said in a low voice.

Pam glanced up at him with a grateful smile, and then picked up the container and followed him into the break room.

****

"Well, there are some advantages to being a social pariah," Pam said as she stabbed at her salad with a plastic fork.

Jim smirked as he crumpled his lunch sack and scanned the now deserted break room. "Angela didn't even throw her yogurt lid away," he whispered conspiratorially.

"Great, now I'm responsible for Angela's slide into depravity," Pam grumbled.

"It's okay; I think she pillaged it from your stash." Jim's smirk softened into a reassuring smile. "They just don't know what to say," he said quietly.

"I know."

"I don't really either," he admitted.

Pam looked up and shrugged. "There's nothing to say."

"Right."

Pam turned her attention back to her salad, focusing on it intently as the silence stretched between them. Once again, he found himself counting the seconds. _Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three… _

"Are you any good with tools?" she asked abruptly, startling him from his task.

"Tools?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up quizzically.

"Tools. I need some help putting stuff together," Pam said without looking up.

"I'm okay with tools," Jim answered with a slow nod.

"Would you help me?" she asked as she looked up shyly. "I can do it myself, but at the rate I'm going it may take a year."

"I can help you."

"Thanks," she said with a relieved smile. She returned to her salad, but then paused mid-stab. She looked up and asked in a rush, "That's not asking too much, is it?"

"What?"

"I mean, you know, with what you said, and how mixed up everything is. That's not asking too much, because if it is, I totally understand. I can probably get my dad to come up this weekend," she rambled.

"It's not asking too much," Jim told her firmly.

"Good," she said, flashing another relieved smile at him before ducking her head once more. She dropped the fork into the container and closed the lid. "I should get back, I have to leave early to meet the cable and delivery guys."

"I see. When do you want me? I mean, for using the tools?" Jim asked, wincing when he saw her eyes widen. "Please don't say it."

Pam smiled smugly and murmured, "I won't, it's too easy. After work? Whenever. I'll be home. They gave me a delivery window from four until seven."

Jim nodded and said, "I'll be over after work." He tossed his bag into the trash and then reached to take the container from her, and then hoping to relieve a little of the tension that hummed between them, he smiled as he fixed her with a stern look and said, "Be prepared to cough up some of the money from secret stash for a pizza, Beesly."

"I can do that," Pam said with a warm smile. "Thanks, Jim," she said as she brushed past him and made a beeline for the safety of her desk.

****

_You're swimming in dangerous waters,_ Pam scolded herself.

She forced her eyes from the shirt stretched taut across his back and stared down into the wine pooled in the bottom of one of her brand new wine glasses. She lifted the glass and took a healthy swig, trying not to think about how comfortable it felt to sit on her new-to-her yard sale futon with him eating pizza from a box balanced on an old trunk she dragged home from another sale just down the street. But she couldn't help but notice how watching him crawl around on her living room floor on his hands and knees was making her distinctly uncomfortable in a very un-friend-like way.

He studied the scant instruction sheet that had come with the table and carefully identified each of the parts in accordance with the badly sketched diagrams, as she studied him. He sorted nuts, bolts and caps as she noted the soft hair exposed by his rolled up sleeves. He arranged the and rearranged the lettered panels and tubular legs, while she mentally cataloged the long, lean muscles that rippled under his rumpled oxford cloth shirt, and the smooth curve of his ass as he bent forward to check and double check each piece against the poorly rendered drawings.

"It's an art table. You would think they could have suckered some starving artist into drawing the stupid diagrams for them," he muttered as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

"I know. I managed to get through the TV stand, but when I looked at that, well, there was no way," Pam said with a self-deprecating smile.

Jim looked up at the simple stand holding a small television and nodded. "Nice work, Beesly." He held up the page of assembly instructions and said, "I'm pretty sure these were written by someone for whom English is a third or fourth language."

"Looked that way to me."

"Right now I'm thinking Somali was the first and Hungarian for the second."

"Really? I was thinking it was Svensk with a healthy dose of Tagalog"

Jim's eyes lit up. "Tagalongs? You should know better than to suggest Girl Scout Cookies to me," he admonished gently.

Pam giggled. "Hang in there, it's almost time."

"Toby's daughter loves me," Jim said with a nod as he studied the sheet once more. He blew out an exasperated breath, ruffling his already disheveled hair, and then running his hand through it one more time for good measure. "Well, here goes. If I ruin it, I'll buy you a new one."

Pam smiled as she sat perched on the edge of the newly recovered futon, her top slipping off of the curve of her shoulder as she watched with avid interest. He fitted a bolt into place and tightened a nut with his fingertips, completely ignoring the pink toolbox that sat untouched next to the trunk. She cleared her throat loudly, capturing his attention. When he looked up, she kept her face completely blank as she said quietly, "I don't think that goes like that."

Jim scowled and stared down at the drawing by his knee. "I think it does, look at the thing there, and it goes like this," he said as he gestured with his free hand. When her lips curved into a delighted smile, he rolled his eyes. "Funny. The pizza wasn't that good. I could walk at any time," he threatened, knowing damn well that he wasn't going anywhere as long as he got a glimpse of her creamy skin.

"No, no! I'll be good," she promised as she stood up and tugged the shoulder of her blouse back into place before smoothing her damp palm over her jeans. "Do you want another beer?"

Jim spared the bottle on the trunk/coffee table and then nodded. "One more."

"I was only going to give you one more," Pam said as she walked toward the small galley-style kitchen.

"Are you policing me?" Jim asked as he aligned the next piece.

Pam pulled another beer from the fridge and then refilled her glass from the bottle of wine on the counter. "Roy got a D.U.I. last night," she said quietly. "That's what Darryl wanted to talk to me about."

"Oh. Wow," Jim said as he sat back on his heels.

Pam nodded as she carried their drinks back into the living room. "Yeah, he refused to submit to the tests, so they suspended his license. Apparently, I'm supposed to help him out, take him to work and back."

"I see," Jim said as he took the beer from her. "Thanks."

"I'm not going to," Pam said flatly, lifting her chin a bit in defiance.

"No?"

"He's a grown man, and he knows better than that. He was there with a bunch of other grown men, including Darryl, who didn't have sense enough to take his keys away. And they know better! I know they do because I stopped picking him up from poker nights two years ago. He usually crashes on Lonnie's couch," she said throwing her hand up in frustration. "And I know it's stupid, and I know it's probably irrational, but I can't help thinking that he did it on purpose."

"He got a D.U.I. on purpose?" Jim asked dubiously.

"He's been calling and calling, asking me to come back, yelling at me that I'd be sorry, telling me that he doesn't know where I kept the laundry soap. It's on the shelf right above the washer, by the way," she said as she dropped back down on the futon heavily. "And Darryl made it sound like… It's like they all expect me to jump in there and fix it. Like it's still my job," she said angrily. "And I don't know what they expect from me. Am I supposed to feel like this was my fault?" she demanded.

"It's not your fault."

"Damn right it's not." Pam cradled her glass in both hands and stared down at the deep purple wine that swirled in the glass. "But I feel guilty, and that makes me mad," she admitted softly.

"Yeah," Jim said sympathetically as he looked down at the piece of laminated particle board he held propped up in his hand. He turned to watch her for a moment, trying desperately to think of the right thing to say, and feeling a little trapped. Not wanting to rock the boat, he reached for another bolt and a nut and bent his head, and returned to his assigned task.

"We almost broke up once before," she confessed softly.

Afraid to look up, Jim grunted, "Yeah?"

Pam smiled wanly as she raised her head and asked, "How do you think I got my engagement ring?" When he didn't respond, she focused on his nimble fingers twirling the nut into place. "You see, when Roy picked me, I could never figure out why. He was the big man, captain of the football team. I was the artsy girl. I couldn't believe it. Suddenly, everyone knew who I was; everyone was so much more friendly to me."

"I can't imagine people being unfriendly to you," he commented softly.

"Well, not really unfriendly. I just didn't exist, you know? Suddenly, I felt important. I think he liked that he could be protective of me. It made him feel strong, I guess. And then after high school, we just drifted along," she murmured. "I think it was comfortable. Safe for both of us. All of a sudden, he wasn't the big shot anymore, and I think that threw him." She took a shaky breath, trying to find a way to verbalize all of the things that had been running around in her head for the past few days. "I started to think I wanted something more. I looked into going back to school, thinking that I could do something with the art thing. Roy didn't like that. When he saw that I was serious about it, he proposed. And then, then there was a wedding to save for, and school went on the back burner."

When Jim nodded and reached for the other legs, Pam winced and said, "I'm not saying it was his fault. I let myself get wrapped up in it. I let myself believe. Even when he postponed the wedding over and over again. That's my fault," she said quietly.

"There's nothing wrong in believing that you can get what you want," he replied gently.

"No, but there's something wrong with clinging to something you're not so sure that you want because you're afraid to do anything else," Pam said, her voice growing stronger.

Jim looked up and found her staring at him intently. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid."

"As long as you realize it before it's too late."

The silence stretched between them. _Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…_ Jim counted to himself as he waited for her to say whatever was obviously on the tip of her tongue.

Pam bit her bottom lip as she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "Why me, Jim?" she asked softly, her gaze unswerving, holding him captive.

Jim gaped at her for a moment, dozens of pictures of her flashing through his head. "I…" he began haltingly. He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, staring back into those new silvery-green eyes and feeling as if he were finally being forced to walk the plank. He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking her from his vision and seeing only the choppy waters that swirled below him.

When he worked up the nerve to open his eyes, he gave her the first reason that came to mind. "You're the reason that I get out of bed in the morning."

Pam looked down, spotting the still knotted tie he had loosened and then draped over the arm of her slightly battered futon. She yearned to reach out and touch it just as she wanted to touch him, just to see if all of this could be real. Instead, she ran her hand over the leg of her faded jeans and said quietly, "I'm not ready for this."

"I know," he said in a low, hoarse voice.

Pam nodded, soothed by his simple reassurance. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the silky fabric of his tie. "But, I want you to know, you're my reason too," she said as she looked up at him shyly.

The smile that bloomed on his face sent a wave of warmth coursing through her veins. Jim nodded and said, "Okay, well, good."

"Good," Pam parroted, unable to resist returning his smile. Their eyes met and held, and Jim began counting again. _Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen… _

Giving his head a slight shake, breaking the spell before he stepped completely off of the plank. He reached for the instruction sheet and asked, "How's your Svensk?"

Pam grinned as she reached for the flimsy sheet of paper. "About as good as my Somali." Pam frowned as she studied the drawing, keeping her eyes averted as she asked, "So, would it be completely out of line to ask you to help me set up my bed?"

Jim snorted and then shook his head. "Yes. But, I'll do it."

"You will?"

Jim smiled, his face lighting as he plucked the sheet out of her hand. "Gotta give you something to get out of in the morning."


	6. Holy Water

**A/N**: A giant thank you to **JamJunkie14** for bidding on me in the author auction, her generous donation to Support Stacie, and her ongoing patience and support. Special thanks to all of you who took the time to read and review. I truly appreciate it!

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of these characters or this show. No infringement is intended.

**Holy Water**

Now he knows what it's like to be Catholic. Now he understands the naked longing he'd see in Danny Sullivan's eyes when he'd unwrap his Hostess Cupcake at lunch. Jim never thought much about what it was like for the Catholic kids during Lent. He thought it was funny, the way their eyes would follow every bite he took of a Snickers bar. He thought it was more than a little pathetic, the way they'd practically whimper when they heard someone open a can of soda. Later, he'd learn to think of the word 'abstinence' in a whole other light, but when he was twelve, it was still a little fun to watch Danny Sullivan's eyes practically fill with tears as he bit into a hamburger on a Friday.

He remembers Danny filling him in on what went on in the catechism classes he was forced to attend every Saturday morning. He remembers thanking his Protestant God that he got to spend his Saturdays on the little league fields rather than hearing about Purgatory. But now he knows. Now he knows what Purgatory is. Purgatory is telling the girl you love that you love her, and then having to wait for her to sort it all out. Purgatory is hearing her say that you are her reason for getting out of bed in the morning, and then helping her pull a fitted sheet taut across her brand new mattress, knowing that you don't get to crawl in there with her. And, you surely know that you are in Hell's waiting room when every time you look up from your computer, you catch her quickly turning away before your eyes meet.

Better than anyone, Jim Halpert now knows that Hell may actually be preferable to spending eternity with your nose pressed up against the window to Heaven. When he was in Hell, he could comfort himself with the knowledge that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about the flames that licked at his flesh. When he was in Hell, he didn't have to think about the heat he felt each time she came near because his life was already consumed with it, with her. But here in Purgatory, he was expected to be there next to her; helping her without doing it for her and comforting her without daring to lay a hand on her.

He was caught between Heaven and Hell. Heaven was her smile; warm and genuine, and meant just for him. Hell, was the occasional brushes of her hair; softly curling red-gold flames that drew him like a moth. Heaven was the sound of her laugh carrying through the phone lines. Hell was the rustle of her sheets as she settled in to talk to him before drifting off to sleep without him.

He'd been patient. Hell, he'd been a freaking saint for the past two weeks. He bit his lip when she'd grabbed his hand and dragged him through Target's sliding glass doors. He'd bit his tongue when she told him that she was meeting Roy for coffee to finally hash things out once and for all. He bit back a shout of exultation when she called him on her way home for the coffee shop, relieved that they were able to finally put their relationship to rest with minimal fuss. He bit into cookies she had baked in her new kitchen, and cheesy garlic bread she had ordered when they ate lunch at Cugino's, but all he really wanted to do was take a bite out of her.

Her perfume drove him wild. It wasn't sensual and smoky like Katy's, or laden with a heavy dose of rosewater like Phyllis'. It wasn't the cacophony of scents that wafted from Kelly's magazines and filled the break room. It wasn't the odd whiff of patchouli that occasionally drifted from back of the office, but no one would lay claim to. Pam smells like sunshine. Soft, warm, fragrant flowers heated by the sun, clean fresh-cut grass, and sweet plump strawberries. He didn't know for sure if it was her perfume, he didn't trust himself to get close enough to investigate. But each time she leaned in close to whisper something in his ear, Jim knew without a doubt that Danny Sullivan would be laughing his ass off if he could see him now.

Abstinence has become a very real word in his vocabulary. He abstained from looking at her for too long, for fear that everyone else would see the Hostess Cupcake style lust in his eyes. He abstained from touching her, even casually, for fear that the heat of her skin would sear him. He abstained from spending too much time with her outside of work, afraid that he wouldn't be able to control himself and fearing his fall from grace.

But he did allow himself a little time, because he simply needed to be near her. And, of course, the phone calls. The nightly calls that started out with a simple, 'Hey, it's me,' and eventually wound their way around to becoming confessionals; as little by little, they revealed their 'first times' to one another.

He'd already confessed to discovering his love of soft-shelled crab during a family vacation to the Chesapeake Bay area. She'd already divulged that mixed berry was not her first yogurt choice, but slowly grew on her as she grew tired of the same old strawberry-banana. Jim told her about his first fender-bender, and Pam admitted that she had received her second speeding ticket within two miles of her first. He owned up to hating ham and pineapple pizza at first bite, but continuing to eat it because his college girlfriend loved it. She revealed that the first award she had ever won for her art was in second grade, for a watercolor rendition of McGruff the Crime Dog which netted her a book of McDonald's gift certificates.

They talked about everything and nothing. Art classes and movies. Music and childhood mischief. Houses with terraces, and dreams of pitching for the Phillies. Little by little, the peeled away the layers, sharing secrets they had never told anyone else, rehashing old information, and filling in the blanks with new. They stripped each other bare, each confession tantamount to an extraneous piece of clothing to be examined, removed and set aside. They asked each other the easy questions and together, struggled to find answers to the harder ones. Hours were spent focused solely on one another through the safety of the phone line, cradled in the intimacy of their respective beds, confident that the tales told in the dark of night would never be used against them in the light of day.

But, for some reason, this day was different.

First, he had caught her openly ogling him when he bent to retrieve his lunch from the break room refrigerator. When he had raised his eyebrows and said, 'Really, Beesly? I'm not a piece of meat, you know,' she simply smiled, her gaze unwavering.

Second, when they walked out of the office that that afternoon, he had asked his now customary, 'Coffee, tea or Target?', only to be met with a slight shake of her head as she said, 'I think I'm gonna just head on home.'

By the time he settled on his bed with a book and his cell phone, he was beginning to wonder if she planned to call at all. He worried that he had said something wrong. He passed the evening replaying the previous night's conversation in his head, parsing it for nuance. But then, the phone rang, and his worries flew out the window.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hi."

"Who was the first girl you ever kissed?" she asked, jumping in feet first.

"My mother," he answered promptly.

"Aside from her."

"Becca Randolph, third grade. She could climb to the top of the monkey bars." He held his breath, counting off the seconds as she processed the information he had just given to her and filed it away. _Ten, eleven, twelve…_

"When was the first time you realized that you liked me?" she asked, her voice so soft and sure he thought he could almost feel her breath tickling his ear.

"You had me at 'Hello,' Beesly," Jim quipped with a deep chuckle.

Pam rolled her eyes as she rolled over, pressing her cheek into her pillow. "When was the first time you wanted to kiss me?" she asked persistently.

"Who said I did?" he countered.

"Oh, you want to kiss me."

The smile in her voice forced him to close his eyes involuntarily. "I think it was just a couple of seconds after, 'Hello,' if I recall correctly," he admitted, his voice soft and a bit rusty.

"I want to kiss you," she whispered into the phone.

"I'll be right over," he told her, only half joking.

"But I don't think I should." Pam hesitated a beat and then added, "Yet."

"Good God, you are a tease, Beesly," he groaned. Jim licked his dry lips as silence filled the air. _Eight, nine, ten…_ he counted, smiling because he knew that the silences were slowly but steadily evaporating.

"I don't mean to be a tease, Jim. Not really," she said sincerely.

"I know."

"I just, I want to be sure. I want it to be right," she tried to explain.

"Well, kissing can be tricky, but I think I've heard something about practice making perfect," he teased gently.

"You're too important to me," Pam said bluntly, unwilling to be distracted by his soft chuckles and the husky timbre of his voice. "You are so important."

Jim blinked up at his ceiling, wondering if his breastbone could withstand the beating his hammering heart was inflicting. "You're, uh, everything," he managed to croak. "I meant what I said, Pam, I'd save you first."

"It's not up to you to save me," she said, her voice softly vehement.

"Yeah, I get that," he assured her. "But I would, just so you know."

Pam smiled and sighed contentedly as her eyes drifted shut, drifting along and letting the surety of his words buoy her. "It's too soon," she whispered, reminding herself more than him.

_Six, seven, eight… _"Is it? Is it really, Pam?" he asked quietly. "Will another week change anything?"

_Four, five, six, seven… _"No," she admitted softly. She moved her feet against the smooth sheets as if treading water.

Jim smiled, her confession shooting through him like the rush of sweet, sugary chocolate after forty long days of self-denial. "That's good enough for now," he murmured, tossing her a line to cling to.

_Two, three, four, five… _"Now," Pam said softly.

"What?"

"I want to kiss you now," she told him, her voice growing stronger.

_One, two, three… _"Pam," he rasped.

"Come over," she whispered without a moment of hesitation.

"It's late, you're tired, we're not, um, thinking straight."

"This is stupid. I know what I want. I know, Jim," she insisted as she sat up, pushing back against the pillows as she brushed her hair from her face.

"You just said that you weren't ready," he argued.

"That was a lie. I'm ready. I've been ready since that night on the boat," she told him. "I was ready, but I shouldn't have been, and that was wrong. I shouldn't have been ready."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pressure you, okay? I was just teasing, you know, flirting," he said sincerely.

"I know that. I know, I know," she said, frustration coloring her voice. "I knew the minute you told me that it was true. I knew when I looked into your eyes that I felt the same way, and I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have felt like that."

"Pam, it's okay," he tried to reassure her.

"And I feel guilty about that. It's like an anchor weighing me down. So I keep pushing you away, but I can't let you go too far or I'm afraid you'll drift off to somewhere else, someone else. And I know it's not fair, Jim. I know it's not right."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I want you to come here."

"Maybe tomorrow, if you still feel…"

"Now. I'm drowning here, Jim," she told him, her voice gently pleading. "I can't think about anything else. I want to kiss you, right or wrong. I can't see you without wanting to kiss you."

"Pam," he murmured soothingly.

"I want you here. I need you to save me. You said that you would save me," she said adamantly.

"I'll be right there."

"We're jumping in. Me and you. I don't care if it's too soon. I don't care if it's right or wrong," she continued as if she hadn't heard him.

Jim looked down at the baggy shorts and t-shirt he wore, but didn't bother changing into warmer clothes. Instead, he shoved his bare feet into a worn pair of tennis shoes, yanking the tongue up forcefully until he could wedge them in there. "Hang on, Pam. I said I was coming over."

"Well, hurry," she prodded.

"I had to put shoes on," Jim answered, snagging the collar of his coat and yanking it from his desk chair. The back of the chair hit the floor as he all but sprinted from the room.

"I kind of feel bad for you, though. I'm a mess," she said worriedly.

"You are perfect. But, if you're gonna change your mind, you'd better tell me now. If I freeze my ass off to get this was all just some big test to see how far I'd go, I won't be happy, Pam." He juggled the phone as he shrugged into his coat.

"No test."

"Because I'll tell you, I don't care how far I have to go. I will," he warned her as he pulled the front door shut behind him. "Crap," he muttered as he felt the coat pockets for his keys and then reached for the doorknob again.

"What?'

"Keys."

"Oh."

"Got 'em," he said as he snagged his keys from the end table and headed out the door once more. "This is crazy."

Pam giggled. "I know. It doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it." When he laughed breathlessly, she smiled and said softly, "We're doing this."

"Yeah." Jim jammed the key into the ignition and cranked the engine, wincing as a blast of icy air from the vents hit him full in the face. "I'll probably end up with pneumonia."

"The fall alone would kill you. But to tell you the truth, I'm a lot more concerned about that water being so cold."

"Huh?" he grunted, tucking the phone under his chin as he backed out and then took off toward her apartment.

"You jump, I jump, right?"

"Wait a minute. Are you quoting _Titanic_ to me, Beesly? Now?"

"I'll never let go. I'll never let go, Jim," she answered, dissolving into fits of giddy laughter.

"Stupid movie," Jim groaned.

"How can you say that?" she asked, affronted.

"You said you hated it too," he reminded her as he took a corner a little too quickly and had to force himself to press the brake.

"I lied. I love it," she answered with an impish grin.

"I may have to turn around now."

"Oh, but Jim! If you turn around, how will my heart go on?" she protested.

"I'm going to kiss you, Beesly. I'm gonna kiss you so hard you're gonna wish you had never laid eyes on Leonardo DiCaprio," he growled threateningly into the phone.

"Where are you?"

"About four blocks away."

Pam tossed back the covers and swung her sock-clad feet from the bed. She glanced down at the flannel pajama pants and stretched out t-shirt she wore and then shrugged as she hurried from the bedroom. She switched on the hall light, and then opened her door. "How far now?" she whispered as she tip-toed down the staircase, hoping they didn't wake Margaret, her landlady.

"On your street. Well, not that you own it. You're already getting too cocky for your own good. The street where you live," he corrected himself.

"There are show tunes about that," she said in a hushed voice.

"I'm begging you," Jim groaned as he pulled to an abrupt stop at the curb.

Pam watched as he unfolded his long, lanky body from the Corolla, and let the door slam loudly as he circled the hood. "Shh," she called out with a breathy laugh as she held one finger to her lips.

Jim trotted up the walk and took the porch steps two at a time, his long legs eating up what little distance remained between them. He wrapped his hand around hers, lowering her finger from her lips and trapping her palm against his chest. He stared down into her bright green eyes, one corner of his mouth lifting self-consciously as the icy wind bit through their inadequate clothing. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice cracking endearingly.

Pam wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and nodded slowly, her gaze never wavering from his until she saw his lashes sweep down, and his lips caressed hers in the barest of kisses.

Pam hummed deep in her throat as he pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. "Michael was wrong, I'm king of the world," he whispered, his breath warm on her face. And then he kissed her, hard and hot, his hands framing her face as he tilted his head, desperate for more of her.

She wound her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through the tousled curls at his nape, returning his kiss ardently as she backed into the foyer and pulled him inside with her. The click of the door shutting behind them, startled them apart. Pam cupped his cheek in her hand, running her thumb over his full, soft lips. And then, she smiled as she took his hand and began to lead him up the stairs.

When she opened the door, Jim's lips quirked into a smile as he leaned in and whispered, "Man overboard," before capturing her lips in a long, lingering kiss.

Pam gazed solemnly into his eyes as she stepped into her apartment, pulling him with her. "Don't be afraid, I'll save you."

The End


End file.
